


All things begin with a kiss

by Gem_Gem



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Accidental Orgasm, Angry John, Attempt at humour, Ear play, Grinding, John is a Horndog, John is a good kisser, Kissing, Love Bites, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Neck Kissing, Nipple Play, Sensitive Sherlock, Silly, Virgin Sherlock, slight nipple play, surprise orgasm
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-19
Updated: 2015-08-20
Packaged: 2018-04-15 12:37:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 6,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4607052
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gem_Gem/pseuds/Gem_Gem
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John's date criticised his kissing technique, leaving him in a foul mood. Sherlock attempts to sooth John's temper and suggests he critique the kiss instead.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Osculation

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote this whilst I've been trying to get the ball rolling on other stories of mine. When I get stuck, I write something new or carry on existing stories. I made this up yesterday to banish my writing troubles, got caught up in it, and liked it. I hope you like it too.
> 
> It was meant to be a oneshot, however it seems like it should be chaptered. Give me your opinions!
> 
>  
> 
> * I want to say thank you to [Megabat](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Megabat/pseuds/Megabat) for supplying me with the title for this chapter...because this story now has more than one chapter going for it.

John was disgruntled and grumpy as he kicked off his shoes, violently hung up his coat, and slammed down a mug from the cupboard, flicking on the kettle. The entire day had been a disaster, filled with snotty nosed kids, hacking old ladies, and a whole group of people suffering from food poisoning; and it had only gotten worse once John had showered, dressed, and met his date for the evening at a local restaurant. 

“Hm. Bad date,” Sherlock stated in that knowing tone of voice that reminded John that earlier Sherlock had told him, with a nonchalant and egoistical air, that the date would only end in disaster, because of the type of shoes the lady wore. 

Sherlock peered up from his microscope briefly but then frowned and looked again properly, eyeing the line of John’s shoulders and then the corner of his mouth pointedly. John scrubbed at his lips in response, wiping pink lipstick from that very corner, and pulled a face, smearing it from his fingers on a nearby dishtowel.

“…Do you,” Sherlock began carefully; looking slightly uncomfortable and lost, though sincere enough not to worsen John’s already foul mood, “wish to talk about it?”

 _“No.”_

Sherlock nodded and turned back to his microscope, “All right—”

“Nothing to say really,” John interrupted, watching Sherlock glance back over with a patient lift of his brow, “Just that my date told me I’m a bad kisser. And this was _before_ we’d even sat down to the damn meal!”

“A what?”

John stormed over to Sherlock, pointing a firm finger at his own chest, “I’m a great kisser. _Brilliant_ in fact. I’ve been told on many occasions, too many to count, that I’m an exceptional kisser. _Yeah_ , that’s the word, exceptional. I’m _exceptional_!”

“But she disagreed,” Sherlock murmured, tilting his head and turning to fully face John, leaning one hip against the table top. 

John nodded and threw up his hands, turning to stomp back over and continue making a mug of tea that he wasn’t actually going to drink, “Yeah. _Apparently_ so…”

“Show me what you did.”

Jerking his head around, John gaped at him and threw down a tablespoon loudly, “ _What_?”

“You know I loathe repeating myself, John.”

“No.”

Sherlock frowned and followed John into the sitting room, “Why not?”

John paused, slammed down his tea and outstretched his arms as he bellowed back in reply, “I’m not _gay_ , Sherlock!”

“Oh for goodness sake—This has nothing to do with your _sexuality_. I just want you to show me what you did, and I can tell you if it was your technique or—”

“How would _you_ know? Huh? You’re telling me you’ve actually let someone close enough to kiss you? What, was it for an experiment? Because, let’s be realistic here, who would kiss you _willingly_?—Shit, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that…” John rambled all at once, grimacing and rubbing his face, holding a hand out to Sherlock in apology. “I’m sorry. Ignore everything I say. I’m just in a mood.”

Sherlock stared at John impassively for a moment and then took a step toward him, “Kiss me.”

“No,” John sighed, eyeing Sherlock in frustration and folding his arms when Sherlock took another step. “No, Sherlock. This is—”

“If you kiss me, I can tell you with honesty, who is at fault,” Sherlock told him. “Her or you.”

“You’re biased. You’re my friend.”

Sherlock arched an eyebrow, “When have I lied to you to spare your feelings?”

“…Well…”

“John, do you want to find out if she was wrong?” Sherlock sighed.

John glared, “She was wrong! I’m an _exceptional_ —”

“Kisser. Yes, I know. I heard you,” Sherlock interjected with a roll of his eyes, taking another step. “All right, let me put it another way—what if you really _aren’t_? What if all the girlfriend’s and lady…friends, that you’ve had up until this point have been lying to you? People do that. _Everybody_ lies.”

“I’m pretty sure none of my girlfriends were lying,” John snorted with a cocky grin before he glanced at an unimpressed Sherlock and cleared his throat. “Sorry—Look, I know they weren’t lying. I _know_ how to kiss.”

“Your date thinks otherwise.”

“Yeah, well…she’s a—” John took a deep breath, let it out, and scowled. “Everyone has different tastes. Perhaps she likes it with more tongue? Or less? Hell, I’d have preferred it if she hadn’t have worn half the makeup aisle from Boots on her face! She looked like a clown. No! Like one of those…doll heads that you can buy for eight year old girls to practice their non-existent make-up skills on! Yeah, _yeah_ , she looked like one of those. It was like she got ready in the dark.” 

Sherlock smiled suddenly and then shook his head, “Just show me. It’ll give you closure. I know you, John. You’ll _forever_ think back and wonder. Then you’ll second guess yourself and—”

John exhaled loudly and grabbed Sherlock’s face in his hands, pulling him down to connect their mouths in a firm and close-mouthed kiss. John tried not to think about who he was kissing and tilted his head, sliding one hand to cup Sherlock’s jaw and the other to play through his hair, mimicking the way he had kissed his date at the start and end of the night. Sherlock had stiffened in his hands the moment John had grasped him, and so his mouth was a contrasting mix of rough and soft, the faint stubble around the lush curve of his lips sending an odd spark up John’s spine.

Sherlock shifted his stance and relaxed his mouth under John’s in the next moment, and his lips became softer still, more yielding, not exactly like the plump lips of a woman, but just enough for John to focus on to stop the rushing of blood to his cheeks and the raising panic at kissing his best friend. John could still slightly taste his date’s lipstick on his lips and in his mouth, and grimaced with a brief inhalation, trying to ignore the flare of annoyance that the taste invoked as he kissed Sherlock with as much desire and finesse that he could, remembering how much he wanted to prove his date wrong after her sharp comments. Would she have criticised the way he would have sucked on her breasts? Would she have criticised the length of his cock or the movement of his hips when he would have fucked her into the mattress?

With a twitch, Sherlock leaned in further, and John tugged at the hair at the base of his skull zealously, angling Sherlock to take more of his kiss and wishing he could slam him up against a wall. The thought was like a cold bucket of water, and John blinked open his eyes, still kissing Sherlock, still gripping and angling him, and still enjoying the heady scent of Sherlock’s skin.

John pulled back slowly and looked everywhere but into Sherlock’s half-lidded eyes, “…Well?” he asked, glancing at Sherlock briefly when there was no immediate answer. “ _Sherlock_?”

“Wha-what?” Sherlock blinked, focusing suddenly onto John’s face.

“Well? What do you think?” John frowned, dropping his hands from Sherlock’s jaw and hair quickly as he stepped back. 

“Think? I—oh, right, yes. _Think_. I…think that, um, that you…” Sherlock stammered, blinking again, looking as if he was trying in vain to organise his thoughts. 

“Should I do it again?” John asked without thought.

Sherlock locked eyes with him, seemed unsure, and then nodded, “Yes.”

“Sit down then,” John told him, steering Sherlock around and pushing him down in Sherlock’s chair with a weak laugh. “So I don’t have to strain my neck so much.”

“Wasn’t your date the same height as me?”

“Shut up.”

Sherlock quirked a smile at John and shuffled forward on his chair when John dragged his own over and sat down facing him, “Should I kiss you back?”

John looked up sharply, “What?”

“Did _she_?” Sherlock asked with a shrug, hands bracing his knees when he leaned forward at John’s gesturing. “Was it one-sided?”

“Um. No. No, she kissed me back,” John replied as he settled close to Sherlock and flashed him a timid and awkward smile. “You know, to be honest, I think she was the bad kisser, not me. She was one of those messy kissers. All tongue and…spit.”

Sherlock hummed lowly and watched John with calculating eyes, “Attractive.”

“Sometimes it is. I’ve had some messy kisses that were…were _really_ good,” John chuckled as he thought back to them with a rakish grin, looking at Sherlock’s curious expression. “But, uh, yeah, no, you don’t have to kiss me back—I mean, it makes sense if you do but I don’t think it’s an…necessity…is it?”

“I’ll kiss you back,” Sherlock replied with an amused wrinkle in his nose.

“Yeah?”

Sherlock inclined his head and signified how much by having his index finger and thumb inches apart, “Just a tad.”

“…You have kissed before, right? What I said before, I…I didn’t mean it but…I don’t actually know if you’ve ever…” John trailed off and motioned awkwardly with his hand. “You know.”

“I’ve kissed before.”

“Oh good—”

“In college.”

“…In—I’m sorry, in _college_?”

Sherlock looked aside thoughtfully, “Possibly for a few cases, as well. Though I can’t recall if so.”

“And now…me,” John added quietly, feeling suddenly uncomfortably warm and uneasy.

“And now you,” Sherlock nodded, not looking at him for a few moments and then leaning forward a little more. “All right. Kiss me again. I’ll pay more attention this time—And don’t look at me like that, John, I don’t need to be _massively_ experienced to know when a kiss is bad.”

John sighed through his nose but didn’t comment and shifted a little further forward, making sure Sherlock looked at him in assent before John closed his eyes, thought of someone else, anyone else, and caught Sherlock’s mouth in another kiss. Sherlock was ready for him the second time, and so instead of John meeting Sherlock’s tensed and unresponsive mouth, Sherlock’s lips yielded instantly in a mixture of moist, gentle, and firm heat that made John pause.

“…What?” Sherlock whispered gutturally. 

John cupped Sherlock’s neck, thumbed his ear, breathed against him a minute, and then pushed into another kiss that Sherlock eagerly responded to. Once again, John kissed Sherlock as close to how he had kissed his date as he could, and even combed the fingers of his other hand through Sherlock’s curls once more, and then around the back of his head, sweeping his hand down his nape like John had with her. Sherlock reacted differently to how she had in just the first few seconds, and John felt thrilled as a result, suddenly filled with such intense confidence and arrogance that he mindlessly deepened the kiss, pushing Sherlock back in his chair.

Sherlock went willingly and huffed through his nose, stretching out under John like John had wanted his date to do. The thought of her womanly curves made John’s blood run hot in both lust and anger, and he vaguely wondered how much he had had to drink as he pushed up and against Sherlock, following him further back in his chair and then pinning Sherlock by the shoulders passionately. However, at the first impulsive touch of his tongue to Sherlock’s lip, John stopped and disconnected their lips, gazing down at Sherlock’s flushed face.

“It was her,” Sherlock said breathily and deep, staring at John’s mouth. “At fault. It was her. I have _no_ idea why she said you were a bad kisser when you so obviously are _not_ —did you push up against her as well?”

John swallowed and shook his head, “No. I wanted to though…”

“She was a fool for turning you away and saying what she did,” Sherlock continued, frowning as he thought of her and then finally glancing up at John, “I told you, it was her _shoes_ , they told me exactly what kind of woman she—”

John kissed him again, suddenly and without conscious thought, and cut off Sherlock’s sentence, sucking on his bottom lip until Sherlock grunted and then bullying his way onto Sherlock’s lap. Sherlock’s body was hard and hot and shaking, and nothing at all like the body of a woman, even an athletic woman. John tipped up Sherlock’s chin and licked a path into Sherlock’s mouth, happy to replace the taste of lipstick with the taste of coffee and bourbon biscuits. 

At the faint hint of smoke, John separated their mouths with a frown, “You’ve been smoking.”

“No.”

“Sherlock…that wasn’t a question, I _know_ you have,” John said lowly, turning his head aside to briefly brush his nose down Sherlock’s cheek. “Sit up.”

Sherlock blinked sluggishly, “What—?”

“Sit _up_. Straighten up on the chair—that’s it,” John mumbled, frowning momentarily at his abnormal attitude and personality shift, before he pulled on Sherlock’s bottom lip with his teeth and gripped a handful of thick curls, opening his mouth to deepen the kiss even more than he had already, a fire in his gut.

Sherlock let out a shaky exhale as John sucked on his tongue and then moaned brokenly, turning his head away, “John…I don’t think— _ah_!” he rumbled, ending in a gasp when John mouthed at a patch of skin high up on Sherlock’s throat, bruising it eagerly and easily with a brazen smile, knowing the right amount of pressure to tread the line between pleasure and pain.

When John leaned back, he admired the mark and stroked around it with his finger, tapping the thundering pulse point below it smugly, “You liked that?”

Sherlock glanced at him meekly and then lifted his chin, blanking his expression, “Is that my punishment for smoking?”

“…How many did you smoke?” John asked him, still close enough to feel each shuddering breath from Sherlock’s nose and mouth.

“What does that matter?”

“How _many_?”

Sherlock sighed and tried to look nonchalant, “Three…possibly four.”

John nodded calmly, drunk on the air between them, and grinned, “Right.”

Sherlock eyed John’s expression with suspicion for only a second until he was shifting and arching off the chair with a gruff, loud grunt as John’s mouth pushed tightly on his throat again, sucking and bruising again, and again, and again. Sherlock didn’t touch John and instead grabbed the armrests of his chair firmly, curling his fingers into them so tightly that they creaked under the strain and shot shivers of avid longing up and down John’s spine. John pulled noisily off after the last mark, and then cupped Sherlock’s face and slipped their mouths together again, pulling enthusiastically at his fringe and subconsciously began grinding his pelvis down into Sherlock’s crotch. The movement made Sherlock flail and buck, slouching down in the chair a little, and John involuntarily adjusted Sherlock’s position by dragging him up by his underarms and smearing his mouth along the rough line of Sherlock’s jaw.

“ _John_ ,” Sherlock groaned with a red face and clenched eyes. “John…you…”

“Yeah,” John whispered and kissed Sherlock’s upturned face again, slipping one hand down to Sherlock’s chest like he would with a woman and finding a toned pectoral in place of the soft shape of a breast.

Sherlock exhaled into John’s mouth and then scrambled wildly, clawing at John’s arms and shoulders when John palmed his nipple, “ _Mm_ —John! _John_ , you’re only doing this because you couldn’t get…g-get…get…”

“ _Get_ what?” John breathed and rubbed the corner of Sherlock’s panting mouth with his lips as he teasingly caressed Sherlock’s pebbling nipple through the tight fitted shirt, still out of his mind but slowly sobering once he noticed the blotchy bloom of colour on Sherlock’s cheeks, neck and chest.

Pressing his lips together, Sherlock trembled fiercely and then grabbed John’s wrists with a sudden erratic rutting of his hips, “ _Oh_! Oh _no_ …no…no, no, no…I’m having an…an _orgasm_ …”

John blinked owlishly and jerked his head back, “What? _Now_?”

“ _Right now_ ,” Sherlock moaned loudly, throwing his head back in embarrassment and pushing up against John with the tendons in his neck and arms tensing. “Oh… _God_ …”

John could feel Sherlock twitch and pulse with heat even through his trousers and he flushed, stumbling to his feet and yanking away from Sherlock who shuddered and panted through his climax, thrusting uncontrollably in his chair. Sherlock eventually slumped, quivering in aftershock, and looked down at his groin with a look of mortification and a whine through his teeth, before glowering at John when he turned to leave the room.

“Don’t you _dare_ leave me,” Sherlock ordered breathlessly. “You made me…”

“I didn’t mean to! _Christ_ , Sherlock, I…I wasn’t _thinking_ and I…I had _no_ idea about—”

“Neither did I, but you _cannot_ just leave me. You can…panic later,” Sherlock told him, voice throatily smooth and gasping. “For now, be a friend and…and don’t go.”

John frowned about to retort, but Sherlock looked at him with an open and timid face, and John nodded, “All right. Sorry…I…let’s not…”

“ _Panic later_ ,” Sherlock repeated, wiping his face with one trembling hand. “Help me up…I don’t think I will be able to stand. It was intense and I am… _very_ …dizzy and lethargic.”

“R-right. Right, sure,” John muttered and awkwardly stepped up to help Sherlock to his feet. “Sorry.”

Sherlock turned hazy eyes towards him and sighed, “Shut up.”


	2. Erogenous

“So…your _nipples_ , huh?” John mumbled four days later when everything had seemed to be forgotten in the sake of their friendship and the bruises littering Sherlock’s throat no longer made John freeze up with overwhelming panic whenever he or anyone else would catch sight of them. “Has no one touched you there before—?”

Sherlock looked slowly over the top of the newspaper he was reading and arched an eyebrow, “Obviously not.”

John lowered his gaze quickly and nodded, “Right, right. Of course. I mean— _nobody_? At all? _Ever_? You had _no_ idea about how sensitive you are there?”

“ _John_.”

“I’m just…curious. It’s not everyday that—”

“You get your best friend and flatmate off in the living room after a disastrous date with a pompous, dim-witted woman who wears ridiculous shoes? No, I suppose you’re right,” Sherlock intoned, putting the paper down when John sputtered and flushed at the sudden and very vivid memory of the event John had tried desperately to forget. “ _Why_ are you so curious?”

John shrugged and looked around the kitchen, avoiding Sherlock’s eyes, “It’s not what you think…its curiosity from a…medical stand point.”

Sherlock’s other eyebrow joined the first, “ _Medical_?”

“Sensitive nipples could be a bad thing. A…very…um, _very_ bad thing,” John said, cringing inwardly and taking a scorching gulp of tea for bravery. “And, you know, I’m just concerned. As a friend, and a Doctor. For your health.”

Sherlock blinked at him slowly and then frowned, “What are you suggesting, here?”

“ _Nothing_! Nothing. I’m not suggesting… _anything_ ,” John told him with a vigorous shaking of his head and an awkward hand motion. “Nope. Nothing. Nothing at _all_.”

Sherlock stared at him silently for three very long and tense minutes, and then put the newspaper aside and leaned across the table toward him, “You’ve not come across _anyone_ with sensitive nipples?”

“Well…yes. Mostly women, though,” John replied, still not meeting Sherlock’s gaze. “And…you know…being a doctor I’ve come across both sexes with sensitivity in the chest that unfortunately turned out bad for them…but…I’ve not really known of someone being so sensitive there that they…that they—actually, let’s just drop the subject. It was stupid of me to even bring it back up. It’s not like I want to be reminded of what I did, I was stupid and angry and maybe a _little_ tipsy—”

“You’re going to use this against me, aren’t you?” Sherlock asked suddenly, squinting as he narrowed his eyes and then sat back, sitting up ramrod straight. “Don’t. I know your erogenous zones too, so don’t think that you can—”

“ _What_? No, that’s not what I—anyway, no you don’t! There’s no way that you know my erogenous zones.”

“Yes, I do.”

“ _No_. No, you don’t, Sherlock,” John laughed as he finally lifted his eyes. “You really, _really_ don’t.”

Sherlock scowled at him and in one smooth motion, leaned across the table, outstretched his arm, and stroked one long lean finger down John’s left ear. John seized up with a sudden and loud moan, and gripped the table, flinching when Sherlock caressed just behind his earlobe and then jerked so abruptly to his feet that he almost knocked over the entire table as he banged his knees on the underside. Sherlock looked up at him calmly with a smug tilt to his mouth, and then sat back, rustling the newspaper.

Breathing heavily, John pinched his ear to stop the tendrils of pleasure and glared, “That’s not fair. All ears are sensitive. It’s not a—”

“You have an erection.” Sherlock stated.

John clenched his jaw and looked down. He was wearing a vest and his underwear under his dressing gown, and his penis was almost completely peeking out from the loose fly, thickening at a rapid rate from just one touch of his ear. John glowered and covered himself quickly with his gown, feeling wholly embarrassed, irate and unnerved at the quick and instantaneous reaction.

“Oh yeah? Well…well…” John stuttered, feeling heat in his cheeks when Sherlock glanced up at him haughtily, just before John stormed around the table unconsciously and slid the pads of his fingers over the small outline of Sherlock’s nipple. “ _Ha_!”

Sherlock exploded into movement, scrambling up off his chair, which screeched and crashed to the floor, as Sherlock fell backward into the wall with a pink face and a look of pure indignation. John grinned at him and gestured down Sherlock’s body without fully looking, knowing that Sherlock was either erect too or well on his way to being so. Sherlock was in his usual t-shirt, pyjama bottoms and dressing gown, and John contemplated insanely whether or not Sherlock wore any underwear under his trousers.

“And now, so do you!”

“Childish,” Sherlock tried to sneer with his nipples poking through his t-shirt and his body shifting in a tremble that had him rolling his shoulders and shaking his head, as if trying to banish the unwanted sensations of pleasure. 

John snorted and folded his arm, “Says the man who _constantly_ broods and skulks—”

“I do not _skulk_. _How_ can I skulk in my own home?”

“—and has _relentless_ tantrums, like some five year old who wasn’t allowed more cookies from the cookie jar.” 

Sherlock tilted his head with interest, “…We have a cookie jar?”

“No,” John laughed, all of a sudden wanting to kiss him again. The memory of them kissing on Sherlock’s chair collided with the back of his eyes once more, and he swallowed thickly, dropping his gaze to the shape of Sherlock’s upper lip.

Sherlock smiled at him slowly and then cleared his throat; righting his chair and wrapping his own gown round to hide the tenting in his pyjama bottoms, “All right. I think we can safely say that it’s a draw—although I know _all_ of your erogenous zones and you only know one of mine. Just putting that out there.”

“You’re just asking for it now,” John murmured as he watched Sherlock try not to back away from John’s approaching figure, once again drunk on the air between them, his heart thundering as he followed Sherlock around the table. “Where you going, Sherlock?”

“Nowhere.”

“Come here—”

Sherlock huffed in amusement and flinched when John reached over and trailed a finger down Sherlock’s throat, poking a lingering bruise, “All right. So, you know _two_ of mine,” he said his expression shifting as he then cornered John into the kitchen counter and ran both hands up his face and around to his ears, rubbing and stroking over them with intention and a playful look in his gaze. 

“ _Sherlock_ ,” John hissed in delight, unable to keep his eyes open as they rolled up into his head with a fluttering of his eyelids. “Oh, _fuck_. You…this…this is not…”

“What?” Sherlock whispered massaging John’s lobes and tipping against him bodily when John gripped his arms and shoulders in a vice-like grip that pulled him close. “Fair? This is perfectly fair, John, after what you did to me...”

John moaned embarrassingly loud and clung to Sherlock as his knees buckled, “I…I didn’t know that you’d…react…so— _fucking_ …oh, fuck, _yes_!”

“Such language,” Sherlock murmured with mock disapproval, gliding his fingers behind John’s ears and then touching feather-light down the edge, tickling in the inside the next moment with a teasing brush of his fingernail.

John had never had his ears touched or played with in such a skilful and dexterous way before. He recalled girlfriends roughly groping and biting and rubbing them, and how he’d hardly even come close to enjoying their treatment of his ears during foreplay and sex. John couldn’t remember the last time one simple touch had ended in such an instant and eager reaction from him. He was hard and aching and leaking profusely, more than he thought possible, and he wondered distantly if he truly would climax from ear touching alone.

Sherlock’s fingers were the perfect ratio of soft and callus, and they skated and fondled and traced John’s ear with skilful and elegant twists and flicks. John was instantly reminded of the way Sherlock played his violin, and the thought pushed a big ball of heat into John’s pelvis, and made him even more hyperaware of the touches to his ears, and the gentle scrap of nails.

Moving his hands to grasp at Sherlock’s waist, bunching Sherlock’s gown between his fingers, John growled lustfully, “Sherlock…you…”

“Yes?”

“ _Sherlock_ …”

Sherlock bent down unexpectedly and blew over John’s right ear in a long, hot and moist breath, “ _Yes_.”

“ _Oh_! Yeah, _yes_!” John exclaimed as his heart skipped a beat and he thrust mindlessly against Sherlock’s body, grinding his almost painful erection into Sherlock’s hip with a panting moan. “ _Shit_ …Sherlock, you should stop…stop…”

Sherlock’s lips very faintly skimmed against John’s ear as he spoke, “Stop?”

Whining, John felt a flare of desire and sharp determination and mischievousness, and pushed one of his hands up and under Sherlock’s t-shirt to finger his peaked nipple. Sherlock gasped wetly into John’s ear and then groaned so deep and hoarse, that it vibrated up John’s spine, burst from the base of his skull, and fizzed over his ears. Within the echoing ripples of pleasure that shot straight to his groin, John watched Sherlock wildly squirm, bending away and then toward John, licking a stripe up his ear when John pinched Sherlock’s nipple between his fingers in retaliation.

Sherlock whimpered loudly just as John inhaled and bucked, rocking into Sherlock’s trembling body with one hand splayed on Sherlock’s chest and the other gripping his waist, “ _Fuck_ …I’m coming…” 

At the first bloom of heat, John groaned and glanced down between their bodies, pulling his shaking hips back to watch in something akin to amazement as he soaked through his underwear in four hard spurts. Sherlock slumped forward with a wheezing moan, propping himself up on John as he rutted in frenzy and spilled hot and fast in his pyjama bottoms.

Breathing heavily, John turned his head, noticed the flush on Sherlock’s cheeks and the way he bit down on his bottom lip, and surged against him for a kiss, scrambling to grab and angle Sherlock’s jaw with a groan. John opened his mouth straightaway for a deep and overly enthusiastic kiss, licking passed Sherlock’s parting lips and gripping handfuls of his hair as he pressed their saturated crotches together. Sherlock lost his balance and stumbled, unable to stand or walk properly as his hips quaked, and fell down onto his backside with a pained grunt.

“…Are you…okay?” John asked breathlessly, gripping the counter when his legs buckled again. “Sherlock?”

Sherlock lifted an unsteady hand, “ _Fine_! I’m…fine.”

“Do you need any help—?”

“My legs don’t _work_ ,” Sherlock interrupted, covering his face with his hands in humiliation and then laughing shortly. 

John snorted and clung to the edge of the counter for a second longer, and then turned to offer a shaky hand, eyeing at the exposed expanse of Sherlock’s stomach from his rucked up t-shirt and noticing the intermittent tremors in his abdominal muscles with something like triumph. When Sherlock didn’t take his hand or look up, John moved to his knees and hovered over him, touching his wrist lightly.

“That did _not_ go as planned,” Sherlock grumbled, peeking through his fingers at John and then sighing. “That wasn’t fair…”

John arched his eyebrow, vaguely wondering why he wasn’t as rattled as he had been before, and leaned down to pull Sherlock’s hands away, “Sherlock—”

“ _Ugh_! It’s dripping down my thigh,” Sherlock suddenly complained as he pushed up onto his elbows and glared down at his sodden pyjamas. 

John giggled and then covered his mouth when Sherlock looked sharply up at him from under his lashes, “ _Sorry_ …come on, and let me help you up… again.”

Sherlock pulled a face, almost sticking out his tongue immaturely, and John grinned, hauling Sherlock to his feet and holding him close, watching Sherlock’s furrowed forehead with such a blossoming of affection that it seemed to blind him for a second and made his heart beat faster.

“ _Shit_.”


	3. Game on

John walked behind Sherlock the next morning, “Morning,” he said with a slight tremble to his voice, the events of the day before still fresh and clinging to his mind, sending up fresh waves of anxiety even as he eyed the curve of Sherlock’s back and the placement of his arms with an uncontrollable audacious grin.

“Hm,” Sherlock murmured unaware of John moving his hands around Sherlock’s sides as Sherlock leaned over to peer at something through his microscope, his attention focused. “Morning. You stayed in bed longer, am I to assume it was because of yesterday— _Ah_!” 

Sherlock straightened with a gasp when John’s hands pressed up against his shirt-covered chest and John’s fingers traced his nipples lightly, “Sorry, what was that?”

“I…I— _Oh_! John…stop…you…I _knew_ you’d use this against me, you… malicious, conniving, tyrant,” Sherlock breathed, writhing and shaking as he gripped John’s arms tightly. “Stop… _stop_ touching.”

“This is payback,” John told him with a laugh as he rubbed his palms in small circular motions over Sherlock’s suddenly heaving chest, able to deal with what had happened the day previous by thinking of it as some sort of game, a challenge, and an upper hand on the usual stoic and dominating consulting detective. 

“Payback? I—Oh _God_ …stop…”

“I seem to remember telling you to stop…” John mumbled, feeling flushed and flustered as he held onto Sherlock’s struggling form and dragged a thumbnail over the right nipple. “And what was it you did again?”

Sherlock flinched with a loud whine and arched up on his toes to get away from John’s hands, “No! _Wait_ …n-no…I did that because you— _Oh my God_! No…no, no, no, _please_ don’t…do _not_ make me…”

“Make you…what?”

“You _know_ what, John— _Mm_! Don’t make me ejaculate in my underwear again, John! _John_! John, _please_!”

Keeping his arms around Sherlock, John pulled off his hands and huffed with delight when Sherlock slumped almost completely backwards in relief, draping against John with a sigh, his head bent back on John’s shoulder. John peered at Sherlock’s flushed face and then turned his head away quickly when Sherlock grasped for his ears in retribution, sliding his shaking fingers along the edge and squeezing the lobes with just the right amount of pressure to make John’s knees weak. 

“ _Oh_ no you don’t,” John warned with a sharp inhale, pressing his hands back into place on Sherlock erect nipples and kneading his chest with his fingers. 

Sherlock jolted strongly, “ _All right_ , all right! Truce!”

John grinned and after a moment of actual deliberation on whether or not to carry out his threat, John swallowed and let Sherlock go, leaning him against the table for balance. Sherlock gripped the table and sank slowly to his knees, breathing deeply and glaring up at John with a look of revenge. John wiggled his fingers in reply playfully and Sherlock laughed, ducking his head as John moved passed him for some breakfast, trying to ignore the juddering of Sherlock’s hips as he composed himself slowly.

The rest of the day carried on as if nothing was out of the ordinary, as if they hadn’t kissed and made each other climax by stimulating their sensitive erogenous zones the day before, both of them seemingly ignoring the invisible shift in their relationship. However, John could feel it whenever he moved near Sherlock’s personal space or caught his eye over a mug of tea, and he still didn’t know what to make of it all. He wasn’t gay, but he couldn’t deny nor fully disregard what he’d done with Sherlock, and although it confused and unnerved him, he also thrilled at some parts of it and was almost proud of himself for rendering Sherlock a gasping mess several times, unable to use his legs properly.

Sherlock was the most receptive person that John had ever touched and kissed, or the most that John could remember for a long time, and that thought alone painted heat up John’s spine, built up the confidence that had been knocked down from his date’s words as well as erased the unsuccessful few months before that which John had thought he’d lost his charm. Sherlock’s reaction to the kiss and to John’s touch had boosted John’s self-confidence and inflated his ego to as big as it had been before Afghanistan, perhaps larger.

Sherlock had not seemed swayed or interested in anyone, be them man or woman, and so to have Sherlock moaning and losing himself under John’s lips and hands was extremely arousing and was probably one of the most erotic things that John had seen for some time. The sound and sight of Sherlock in the throes of orgasm and overwhelming pleasure would forever hunt the deepest corners of John’s mind.

In the late evening, John found himself watching Sherlock pace irritably before Lestrade, his face strained in anger as he frustratingly gestured around the recent crime scene, ignoring the scowling face of Anderson and pushing back a few errant forensic photographers. Sharing an exasperated expression with Lestrade, John waited until Sherlock was within reach and strode over with determination, an impish quirk of his mouth instantly raising Lestrade’s interest and relaxing the man’s shoulders.

“How could you _not_ see it? Are you all _blind_?” Sherlock sneered as he looked around at anyone and everyone, his eyes intensely sharp and calculatingly until they landed on John and shifted in confusion, and then hot suspicion when John stepped forward. “John—”

Grabbing Sherlock by the lapels of his big coat, John hauled him out of the room, “We’ll be right back,” he told Lestrade with a look that merely made Lestrade nod and lift his hands in submission without complaint. “Won’t take long.”

Sherlock frowned and stumbled, “ _John_!”

“Shut up.”

“But John, what are you _doing_?”

John pulled Sherlock outside and around a corner, into a small alley at the side of the building where the murder had been committed. Sherlock looked around with a deep furrow between his eyebrows and then grappled at John’s hands in anger when John yanked him around.

“First of all,” John began, as if to lecture Sherlock, and then thoughtlessly pulled Sherlock down by the back of his neck, kissing him roughly and passionately, speaking directly against his lips, “…You’re being an arse, more so than usual, and I _don’t_ approve.”

“I—”

“Second of all,” John continued and span Sherlock around to face the wall of the building, shaking as he realised what he had just done and what he was suddenly determined to do next, “Open your trousers.”

Sherlock straightened with a tensed jerk and frowned back at John in puzzlement until John pulled open his coat and yanked Sherlock’s shirt from where it was neatly tucked in his trousers, shoving his bare hands up Sherlock’s shivering middle to palm and rub at his nipples. Sherlock’s breath hitched and he convulsed and then groaned deeply, rutting frantically as he clawed and scrabbled at John’s arms.

“ _John_!”

“Open your trousers,” John repeated as he teased the puckering flesh under his touch with long and short strokes, rubbing over one and then barely touching the other before stroking very gently all over Sherlock’s chest. “I’m not going to stop…”

Breathing hard, Sherlock struggled for a moment more and then fumbled with his belt and the button of his trousers, “ _God_ …John, this isn’t—”

“I want you to go back in there after this and apologise to Lestrade,” John told him, amazed at how calm and steady his voice was as he flicked the rough part of his fingers along Sherlock’s nipples and caressed around them before stopping altogether when Sherlock’s breathing changed, moving his hands to rest just under Sherlock’s collarbone. “Understood?”

Sherlock whimpered and bucked, “ _John_ …what are you—?”

“You don’t have to apologise to Anderson though,” John added with a smirk that crept over his face shamelessly as he walked his fingers down roguishly to move around Sherlock’s nipples without actually touching them. 

“ _God_ …what…what are you _doing_?” Sherlock grunted, squirming and red faced and faintly sweating, his hands tight on John’s forearms.

John brushed the very edge of Sherlock’s left nipple, skirting around the areola, “Teaching you a lesson.”

Sherlock panted hard and moaned, kicking and scuffing his shoes against the floor, “ _O-oh_! Oh… _oh God_ …” 

“Will you say sorry to—?”

Sherlock arched his body in a taut and shaking arc and growled, “ _Yes_! God…yes! _Anything_! Just…stop this...this _torture_!”

John skimmed his fingertips over Sherlock’s chest lightly, “…Anything, eh?”

“You evil _bastard_ ,” Sherlock laughed breathlessly before he choked on a moan and trembled violently, thrashing as his thighs quivered.

John turned his face into the upturned collar of Sherlock’s coat with a wide smile and then removed one hand quickly to lick two fingers and push them back up Sherlock’s torso, fondling Sherlock’s left nipple wetly and rolling the right under his callused palm gently until Sherlock rocked zealously with a stream of gasps and low moans and then thrust twice, going rigid.

“You coming?” John asked with a gruff tone, noticing his left hand trailing down Sherlock’s contracting stomach as if with a mind of its own.

Sherlock nodded strongly and then threw his head back, covering his mouth with one hand clumsily as he groaned deep and loud once the first strip of ejaculate spurted up the wall highly, followed closely by a second and a third. Sherlock’s entire body was going into a spasm and John swallowed hard whilst he watched over Sherlock’s shoulder as he splattered the bricks thickly.

“ _John_ …I…God…” Sherlock rasped unable to keep himself upright and collapsing against John in a shaking heap, a few more bursts of ejaculate splashing on the pavement, barely missing one of his shoes. “I…I can’t…”

John stumbled backwards with a grunt, holding Sherlock up by his bared waist and gritting teeth, “ _Shit_ …didn’t think of this part,” he muttered with an amused quirk of his mouth. “Sherlock— _Christ_ , your heavy! Sherlock, are you… done? I should have planned this out better…”

“I can’t feel my legs,” Sherlock slurred with a confused and overcome giggle. “My _legs_ , John! _Why_ is it always my legs? I _need_ my legs…”

“Remind me to _never_ try this again—”

Sherlock sluggishly slipped himself away and then messed with his trousers as John propped him up against the opposite wall, “Help me…I _can’t_ …my belt,” he murmured huskily. 

John swatted Sherlock’s hands out of the way, briskly tucked in his shirt again, zipped and buttoned him up, and then buckled his belt, “Right—All right. Done,” John mumbled, using Sherlock’s scarf to dab at the sweat lining Sherlock’s forehead and upper lip, and then massaging Sherlock’s thighs carefully, easing the tremors from them. “Can you walk?”

Shrugging, Sherlock pushed from the wall and swayed on his feet for a few moments, breathing through his nose and trembling, his hips still faintly twitching. John watched him silently, walking a tightrope of emotions and urges. He wanted to kiss him again, wanted to thumb the stubbly line of Sherlock’s jaw and open his mouth with his tongue; and so took an unsure step toward him, picking up on the musky scent of him as the wind picked up.

After another minute, Sherlock straightened fully, adjusted his coat, glanced over at John with his blush receding, and walked back into the building with John trailing after him.

“Lestrade,” Sherlock said croakily as he entered the room again, clearing his throat when Lestrade’s eyebrows jumped. “I’m…sorry. It’s not your fault that you’ve been surrounded by _imbeciles_ for so long that _stupid_ seems to have seeped so deep that’s its damaged almost your entire brain.”

Lestrade’s eyebrows went an inch higher, “Um…”

“That’s as good as you’re going to get, I think,” John smiled as he moved to stand beside Sherlock looking as neutral and nonchalant as he could with Sherlock still vaguely vibrating from his intense orgasm. 

Sherlock flashed Lestrade a matching smile, reached out and tweaked John’s ear without looking, and then clasped his hands together, “Let’s continue, _shall_ we?”

John jumped with a muffled gasp and tried to ignore the confused look that Lestrade continued to shoot his way for the remainder of the night.

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback fuels me!


End file.
